


Five Minutes

by silentstephi



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Steph Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentstephi/pseuds/silentstephi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've just been brought back from death, you have five minutes alone to digest and then move on with the mission. What do you do? Rated T for swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Mass Effect Weekly Challenge drabble, I called it "Doubts." The prompt was Shepard contemplates God or religion in wake of their resurrection. Sooo here's what I thought up.

Five minutes. I just need five minutes to think.  
Leaning my head on to the back of the couch, I let the breath go. _I died._  
Little things keep reminding me. Small touches. Forget the open sore scars on my cheeks and brow. Ok, I can't but they're not right. The placement is wrong.  
Small dents and dings in places that didn't have them before. My ink is _gone_ , except for Ash's rose.  
I have to sit up, otherwise I'm going to puke.  
Leaning forward and over my knees, I look at the floor of this swank "loft" Cerberus built...  
Fuck. Cerberus. Fucking BASTARDS. Got my whole team slaughtered by a Thresher Maw and like some galactic joke, they bring me back to life? They couldn't just let me die.  
A cold sweat slicks my skin. Memories of a life time ago...

_"They are heathens, Stephanie. Heathens are to be cleansed and brought back to the Word of the Lord. They are outside His Plan, doomed to Oblivion. You don't want to be like them, now do you?"_  
The sister looks at her, stern gaze like it was piercing the orphan's soul, judging her, divining whether or not she is amongst those needing to be cleansed. The aliens are real and folks are not happy with this new outcome. But all this particular orphan wants is a chance to look at the strange asari lady coming by the church that day...  
The child fidgets, unable to stay still under the nun's stare.  
"No Sister Angelina."  
"That's right. You're a good child. And you will continue to be one."

Inconsequential memory. But it's _hers_. And it was better than the alternatives.

_...zero gravity, drifting farther away from the ruined ship, the hissing of air all she hears..._  
...her helmet has a crack... the air is pushing her forward, she's clutching the leak, trying to seal it with her hands...  
...heart hammering in her head, she's losing air, eyes are straining, starting to bug out...  
Not like this! Oh God, not like this!

I groan, stand up and start to pace. God, my heart won't stop slamming in my chest. I feel like there's a hole there now. An aching hole of fear and dread.  
There is Nothing. Nothing in the void of space. No angels in the rafters. No light at the end of the tunnel. No fiery pit of doom and damnation.  
There was Nothing.  
Oblivion.  
Was Sister Angelina right? Am I outside His Plan?  
Fuck, this is stupid.  
So I died, that doesn't mean I have no purpose. Does it? Yanking the top of my pants down to expose my abdomen, I look at the flower on my right hip. It looks like hell. The smooth lines are ragged, the blood red ink seems to have faded to a scorched orange.  
 _Ash._  
Even her name, artfully curved into the petal, is chopped up.  
Are you with God now?  
Looking over the rest of my pelvis, my stomach twinges in memory. Collen, Jim, Erickson, Tammers... roses and thorns in my mind, but gone from my body.  
Why am I here?  
Basic fucking question, loaded answer. My knuckles are going white from gripping my pants so hard. I rub them together, trying to get some circulation back but nothing is getting rid of this hole in my chest. Tears threaten to pour down my face. If only the Sisters could see me now...  
I bolt into the fancy head in the loft and run the tap. Cerberus design. Another gut punch to the holes in my belly.  
Is this what selling your soul is like? Do I even have one?  
Did I ever?  
I can't shake it. This feeling of wrong.  
 _I died._ There is... nothing. Is that what is really waiting for us, in the end?

_**"Your lives are measured in years and decades. You wither and die."**_  
Was Sovereign right? I stare at my face in the mirror, dark eyes blood shot. Looking for answers, finding more questions.

The comm cracks to life, "Commander?"  
I start, then relax. Joker. If there's one constant in my life, that pain-in-the-ass savior-of-my-sanity is it.  
"Yea."  
"We're five minutes to Omega's dock."  
Pull your shit together Shepard. Put this on the back burner. People need you. This mission takes priority.  
"Have Taylor and Lawson ready to meet me at the airlock."  
"Aye aye ma'am."  
I splash some water over my face, shut off the sink and grab my gear.  
Guess my five minutes is up.


End file.
